


I Know Where Your Mind Has Gone

by safe_haven



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Panic Attacks, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-12 10:00:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19129765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/safe_haven/pseuds/safe_haven
Summary: So there they sat, taking in the comfortable presence of the other. Peter stared out, eyes empty, at the world around him. He could just barely see the wreath of flowers still floating in the distance, bobbing up and down in the moonlight. Harley gazed at the stars, his eyes bright. Peter wondered distantly what he was thinking.Or: A series of one-shots between Harley and Peter (mostly based off dialogue prompts)





	1. The Wind (It Howls and Bites)

**Author's Note:**

> as a certified Southerner y'all are legally required to run your harley keener's southern accent/southern speech by me before you post it. ok i'm joking but y'all are hilarious. keep it up pls ily

The battle was won. The superheroes could rest now, knowing that they had saved the world- no, the universe- from catastrophe. Peter could go back to his normal life, juggling his hero complex, school, and friends. Everything was okay. 

So why didn't it feel like it? 

Peter sat on the porch, staring out at a world quickly falling into the darkness. The beginning light of the full moon was beginning to daze the calm waters.

He had memories of lakes: of running and yelling and the storms, the storms coming so quick and fast and MJ yelling, "I knew this was a bad idea!" over the steady rumble of thunder. Ned giving Peter a piggyback ride back to a building called the Hub.

It seemed like just yesterday. But it was five years ago, wasn't it? Or six. He couldn't keep track anymore. 

Peter saw someone sit next to him in his peripheral vision. He couldn't quite make out who he was; it was getting darker and the figure seemed unfamiliar. The two kept the silence for a while. Then, the boy sitting next to Peter tore down the wall of unspoken emotion.

"Did you know Tony well?" 

It almost came as a surprise to Peter. The voice was deep and had a slow drawl to it, the endings of words being dragged and rounded. But what was shocking was that the voice was young, and yet he referred to Mr. Stark as "Tony."

He wondered fleetingly how many teenagers had that privilege. He wondered how close Harley was to Tony. How they met. 

Peter took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. It didn't work, however, and his voice came out wobbling. "Yeah, I did. He was my mentor for a while."

The boy next to him shifted, nodding and humming. Peter looked over, finally. "What about you?" 

Silence once again filled the space between them. Peter figured that the boy just wasn't comfortable talking about it, so he leaned back, gazing out at the night again. Stars were slowly beginning to fade into existence above them. Wind persuaded the leaves to rustle just so. 

"I'm Harley," he finally said, his voice soft. The sound found its way into the other background noises of the night. 

"Peter. Parker." 

Harley reached out squeezed Peter's shoulder. Peter jumped at the strange and sudden affection, but Harley seemed unbothered by it. "It's nice to meet you, Peter Parker. I'm sorry for your loss." 

Peter didn't say anything to this. A lot of people were sorry, especially those that had to pull him off of Tony after he had stopped breathing. It didn't change the fact that Tony wasn't alive.  

It didn't change anything. 

So there they sat, taking in the comfortable presence of the other. Peter stared out, eyes empty, at the world around him. He could just barely see the wreath of flowers still floating in the distance, bobbing up and down on the gentle waves. Harley gazed at the stars, his eyes bright with their light. Peter wondered distantly what he was thinking. 

Their newfound silence was interrupted by another person stepping out onto the porch. 

"Peter, baby." It was May. "I think it's time for us to go home, okay?" 

The wind picked up, convincing the trees to dance with it. Peter placed a palm flat against the porch, his eyes glazing over as he looked up at May. A certain, indescribable feeling settled in his stomach. 

This was Tony's house. And if he left, that meant it was real. That Tony wasn't coming back. But maybe, maybe if he just stayed a little longer, maybe if he skipped enough stones or braided enough of Morgan's hair, Tony would come strolling through the front door again. 

"Peter? Honey, we really need to go." 

The panic began to build. Peter couldn't just  _leave._ Tony- Tony was dead, Tony was dead and he heard his heart stop beating, felt him go cold, heard Steve Rogers crying as he tried to pull the grieving kid away.

_"Peter," Steve was saying. "Peter, we really need to go."_

"No!" Peter shouted. His voice was so loud and so sudden that Harley jumped, holding a hand over his heart. 

"No, I can't go! I can't go, I  _can't-"_

Before May had a chance to react, Harley had turned so he was completely facing him. "Hey, hey," he coaxed gently. His voice still held a deep drawl, even as a whisper. "Hey, darlin', it's okay. Don't cry."  

Harley reached out for Peter, his eyebrows low in concern. Peter had curled in on himself, sobs racking his tiny frame. He couldn't hear anything, didn't  _want_ to hear anything, just wanted to drown in his own sadness. 

May knelt down next to Harley as he placed a hand on the side of Peter's head, swiping through the curls there and trying to persuade him to look up. 

"Peter, what's wrong?" May asked. If the feeling of Harley's hand on his head was calming him down any, Peter wasn't showing it. He just kept shaking and crying and clawing at his arms, desperately wishing the heaviness away. 

When May reached out to put a hand on his hair, Peter lurched back, scrambling to his feet. He stared at May and Harley with scared eyes. His lips were parted, his face pink with the strain of crying. His chest wheezed uncomfortably, and he choked on a breath. 

Harley and May got to their feet. May looked increasingly concerned, but Harley simply had a look of sadness, his hands steady as they reached out for Peter. "Peter, honey, it's okay." He managed to snag one of Peter's hands and pulled him forward. Peter, thankfully, did not resist. He stumbled, colliding heavily with Harley's chest. 

"You need to go home with your Aunt May," Harley continued. "It'll be better in the morning." 

Harley tucked Peter into his arms, covering his head with his arms and holding him there. Peter let himself be held. He clung onto the back of Harley's shirt, and his knees gave way.

"Woah!" Harley exclaimed. He put a hand against Peter's back, holding him up as best he could. 

May set a gentle hand on Peter's back, slowly winning him back from Harley. His tears had dried, his shaking almost completely stopped. It seemed the worst of it was over. The storm had passed. 

Harley nodded once to May and gave Peter's hand one tight squeeze. "I've got my own family to get back to," he whispered. How his voice blended into the night, took the moon as its own, Peter would never know. And he guessed he would never, now. 

May slowly lowered Peter to the flow and rocked him there, passing a hand over his face and through his curls. When Peter looked up from the safety of May's arms, Harley was gone. 

The crickets chirped in his absence. The water lapped lowly against the bank. The stars draped the scene in gold. 

And somehow, Peter was okay. 


	2. Swear to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> based on the dialogue prompt: "You can't just stay in bed all day."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a friend who always says "It's _____ time!" and then proceeds to do the thing. One time he was trying to help me through a math problem and he said "It's sneeze time!" and then sneezed and I burst into tears. That has literally nothing to do with what you're about to read but I thought I'd share that. James if you're reading this, I love and miss you. Visit me soon, funky lil math dude.
> 
> Trigger warning: slight mention of self harm

Peter didn't open his eyes for two hours after he woke up. The world felt dark and hot around him, pressing on his lungs and shifting around his arms and legs, holding him to the bed. 

He had been like this before; there were bad days long before Thanos where he would drop everything on the couch and lay in his room all afternoon and all night. Never sleeping, never eating. Just laying and staring at the wall. 

As of today, Peter hadn't gotten out of bed for a week. It had never been this bad before.

May supposed she couldn't judge him; she tried to imagine what it'd be like to be torn apart in the midst of one battle and then slammed back together in the middle of another. She had held him while he screamed about Tony. She had thought about how it must have been like to watch him die. 

Now, she sat on the edge of his bed, flattening his sweaty curls away from his forehead. His eyes were rimmed with red, his cheeks rubbed raw with the force of his tears. 

Peter slowly clawed himself out of his comfortable blanket of darkness he had surrounded himself with mentally, and he blinked against the brightness of the room. It had to be at least noon now. His body ached, but he supposed this was better than getting up and having to be alive again. 

"Peter," May coaxed gently. "You've got to get out of bed, take a shower. I'll cook you lunch. Or, or breakfast. Whatever you want." 

When she was met with silence, May sighed. She passed a hand over Peter's arm, which was tucked under his pillow. A stuffed frog was squeezed tightly into the crook of his elbow, pressed against his chest. 

"I know," she started. "I know it's hard. I can't imagine, baby, I can't-" Her voice caught, and she took a deep breath, starting again. "I can't imagine the things you've been through, but I'll help you through them. I promise I'm here." 

May tried for a smile, reaching over to pat the head of the frog. "I know Sheriff is here for you, too. And he wants you to get better." 

Peter slid his hand from under the pillow and squeezed the heart that the frog was holding. The heart was huge and red, and it said, "I love you!" in big white letters. It was attached to the hands of the frog with stitches. 

The frog had been gifted to Peter by Ned on Valentine's day last year. Or, five years ago. Peter had affectionately named it after a German news moderator that both he and Ned loved to watch. 

Peter clung tightly to it as May began talking again.  

"I know you're not feeling well, but you have visitors. I thought they'd be able to help you a little bit. Even if it's just getting you to sit up." 

May pretended not to notice the way Peter's eyes glazed over in anger. His stomach clenched with sudden anxiety, and he would have lashed out at May if he had the energy for it. Instead, he sunk deeper into his cover, closing his eyes again and swallowing tears. 

"Can we come in yet?" a voice asked, muffled by the closed door to Peter's room. The voice was familiar, though not one he knew well. An image of a boy sitting next to him on the porch flashed briefly across his mind. 

_Could this be him?_

"Come on in," May called. She stood, crossing to the door to receive the guests as they opened it. "I don't think there's anything more I can do. I'll be in my room if you need me," she stated, voice low, to the new presence in Peter's room. 

The boy's concerned eyes flickered over May's face and found their way to Peter. MJ stood next to him, arms crossed and eyebrows low in worry. 

"Peter, at least try to talk to your guests, okay? They've come here for you." 

Something like guilt lodged its place into Peter's stomach, but he ignored it. He's had enough guilt for a lifetime. He watched with red eyes as MJ and the familiar boy moved towards him. 

"Hey, Parker," MJ greeted, a casual smile on her face. "Haven't seen you in forever." 

The door shut, trapping the three teenagers together. MJ sat on the edge of the bed, placing the back of her hand on Peter's damp forehead. She hummed, low and soft. 

"Mornin', Peter," the boy said. "I'm Harley. I don't know if you remember me, but we had a talk. At Tony's cabin that night." 

Peter flinched, turning on his back so he could stare at the ceiling. Harley wavered, his usual charm gone. Peter held Sheriff tightly to his chest, pulling at the fur around his bead eyes. 

There was a silence in which no one was sure what to do with themselves.  

Peter considered the herculean task of sitting up, getting out of bed, making conversation with people who cared about him. His hands played absentmindedly with the hands of his stuffed animal. Harley pretended not to notice his codependence with a fake frog. 

The stuffed frog had become Peter's greatest source of comfort. On his most sleepless nights, all he had to do was squeeze the heart and he almost immediately felt sleepy. When he was crying or in the middle of wanting to die, he just held on to Sheriff. Willed himself to get better again. 

"Peter?" 

MJ's voice sounded slightly alarmed. She brushed at the overgrown hair on Peter's neck. 

"Peter, what happened?" 

MJ moved the little curls there, revealing dozens of deep scratches reaching from the nape of his neck to his collarbone. Harley choked, his eyes widening and his hands twitching at his sides. 

Peter batted her hand away, rolling his eyes and turning to face the far wall.

"Okay, that's it, Peter," MJ said, her voice filled with tears and what sounded a lot like anger. "Get out of this goddamn bed. You can't-  _fuck,_ Peter, you can't keep doing this." MJ stood suddenly and forcefully, tears spilling down her face. 

She reached over, yanking Sheriff out of his place in Peter's hands. Peter opened his mouth to protest, but MJ was already tugging at his arms. She managed to wrestle him into a sitting position before completely breaking down. 

"I have been so goddamn worried about you," she cried out, falling to the bed as she released her grip on him. "I can't keep doing this, Peter, Jesus I'm going to have a heart attack." Peter looked at her blankly. 

_And one day, someone you love will probably cry in front of you, and your only thought is, 'When is dinner?'_

Peter swallowed, shrugging his shoulders. His eyes were empty. But still, he tried. He slid his legs over, bumping MJ's thighs with them. She stood, breathing out in amazement as she pulled the covers from off of him.

Peter finally managed to stand, staggering a little with the heavy feeling of being back upright. Harley held out a steadying hand for him to grab onto. 

"Let's get you cleared up, brother," Harley suggested. MJ rubbed her face with both hands, sighing. She waved them off, signaling that she needed a few minutes alone. Peter wanted to scream at the guilt that nagged at the back of his mind. 

Peter showed Harley where the bathroom was, and Harley convinced him to sit on the lid of the toilet as he evaluated the cuts. MJ finally wandered in, her tears dried and her hands no longer shaking. 

"Wow," Harley murmured. He pushed short hairs away from one of the deepest cuts. "What happened?" 

 

"It's nothing! It's nothing. Jesus." Peter's weak protests faded into a restless mumble as he rubbed his neck, his fingers stretching to cover the scratches there. Harley reached his other hand out tentatively, using a careful touch to brush Peter's own away from the wounds. 

Harley pressed around the red spots with his thumb. Peter flinched but otherwise made no move to stop him. MJ stood a few feet away, thumbs hooked into the front loops of her jeans. She rocked back and forth in unease. 

"Have you been hurting yourself?" Harley whispered. He didn't quite meet Peter's gaze, looking just below his eyes and at the red space surrounding them. 

Peter jerked away from Harley's sudden concern. "No. They're just from the battle. I'm fine." 

"Even if they are just from the battle, they should have healed weeks ago. Especially with your healing factor. So even if you didn't do this to yourself, you've been reopening them. That counts as a form of-" 

"I know what it counts as," Peter snapped. The emotion lying just below his voice was enough to make Harley back down. The room filled with heavy tension. 

Harley moved quietly to the cabinet, hunting for a washcloth and some kind of first aid kit. MJ had moved to just behind Peter, the backs of her legs pressed against the bathtub. Peter leaned the back of his head into her stomach, and she pulled at his dampened curls. 

"You're okay, Peter," she mumbled in reassurance. Harley returned to his position, reaching up to hold Peter in place. He used a wet washcloth to wipe dried blood from Peter's skin.

Harley worked in silence, eyes focused on the task at hand rather than the hurting boy he was performing it on. He placed bandages on the worst ones, leaving the smaller ones to heal on their own. 

When he was finished, he leaned back, examining the scene before him. Peter had, at some point, reached back to grasp at MJ's shirt, eyes shut tight in pain. 

MJ ran a gentle hand down the side of his face, her own eyes closed and scrunched up in worry. 

Harley swiped at the tears forming in his eyes. He was emotionally exhausted from cleaning another person's scars. "Peter," he finally said. "Peter, darlin', look at me." 

Peter opened his eyes slowly, tilting his head down to make eye contact with Harley. MJ opened her eyes, too, her hands slowing to a stop on Peter's shoulders. 

"I know you're in pain. But you can't lay around in bed all day and you can't do this to yourself. I know you don't know me. But let me help." 

Peter's shoulders shook quietly, a few tears spilling out before he knew he was crying. He reached out a hand and Harley accepted it, squeezing it tightly. "I just want the pain to stop," he admitted. 

* * *

A few minutes later, Peter was leaning over the kitchen sink, where MJ was washing his hair. He watched the water and shampoo rush into the drain, along with blood from self-inflicted wounds. 

As MJ smoothed conditioner into Peter's hair, she scratched softly at the base of his curls. "I'm so sorry you're feeling this way, Peter," she soothed. He leaned into the touch. "I'm so sorry I snapped at you earlier. It's going to be okay." 

When MJ had declared his hair clean, she dried it gently with a towel wrapped around Peter's shoulders and wiped his face with a paper towel.

Peter smiled sheepishly up at MJ, and she knew that she had her old Peter back. Part of him, anyway. She punched his shoulder as a test, grinning at him. "Loser," she claimed.

All she got in return was a shrug and a suspiciously wet sniff. 

Harley cleared his throat from where he was idling in the living room. He had made Peter breakfast, though it was almost 2 in the afternoon. It sat now, cooling, on the counter. 

"I've got to get going now," Harley stated. His eyes flickered one last time over Peter's fragile frame. "But I'll be back to check on you. Eat your breakfast, sugar. It's good for the soul." He gave Peter a two finger salute, a smile, and disappeared out the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me so, so long to write and I'm still not completely satisfied with it. Ah, well. 
> 
> I hope you're having an amazing night! -j


	3. What You Have Done

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is so messy and i am so sorry for this. i was on a family vacation for a few days and i'm going to be out of country for about 10 days starting tomorrow so i'll try to update when i can. i'm genuinely so sorry

Peter knew he would never exactly stop longing for death. 

It's always there for him to take if he ever wants it. Just beyond his fingertips, there is a promise of something better than this. A black hole he can always sink into if it needs it. 

It is the first thing that wakes him up in the morning. The last thing on his mind when he inevitably gives up to the gaping maul of sleep. He sinks, lower and lower into this headspace of his, wrapped in blankets and sweat and wanting to sleep and sleep forever. 

Today was one of the days in which Peter would much rather take his shot with death than feel the pain he was experiencing. 

He had a solution for this; a compromise, if you will. When the emotional pain gets to be too much, Peter forces himself to feel physical pain. It balances the scale a little, eases the pressure off of his chest. 

Peter sat up in his bed, his fingernails already latched onto his neck. He closed his eyes, pulling a deep breath into his lungs and holding it there. Then, he dragged his nails across the soft skin on his chest. 

He didn't have to put his hand back over the area to know that it was bleeding now. His hands ached with the effort of it, his chest stinging and his body screaming at the pain. But he did it once more, this time under his collar bone. 

The pain took his breath away. It expelled the oxygen from his lungs and forced him to tilt his head back, gasping and shuddering and coughing. But it was worth it. 

 Just as Peter positioned his nails for the third time, he heard the front door of his apartment opening. He cursed under his breath and reached for a hoodie to cover up the mess he had made. 

As soon as the damage was hidden, his door opened slightly. The person standing on the other side waited for the few seconds of silence that indicated consent and then eased the door open all the way.

Harley stood in the doorway, a small smile on his face. 

"Hey, Peter. I just came to check up on you." 

If he noticed the empty look in Peter's eyes, he didn't say anything. Peter watched him move across the room, finding his way to Peter's side. Harley settled himself on the bed and took a deep breath. 

"How have you been?"

Peter sighed, the tension leaving his shoulders as he leaned against Harley. The older boy took this with ease, shifting so Peter could lay against his chest in comfort. 

"I've been okay, thanks to you and MJ. Thank you, for coming over so often." 

Harley smiled lightly, though he knew Peter couldn't see him. "Are you feeling up for standing? Getting something to eat?" 

Harley's words were gentle, never pushing, never prying. Just caring for Peter as he was. Peter fell easily into this. He enjoyed the way Harley never asked him to do any more than he was comfortable doing. 

So the two settled into an easy pattern of Harley getting Peter to get out of bed, and Peter clinging tightly to Harley as they moved around the apartment. Harley had managed to get Peter to take a shower and change into pajamas the following night. He didn't believe in God, but he did believe in miracles, and every step Peter took was just that; a miracle. 

Peter braced himself against the counter. His eyes were darker than they were yesterday, the red under them more pronounced. Harley didn't want to point this out, though. He was petrified that it would halt Peter's healing, and he would lock himself back in his room for days. 

Harley was not ready to give up on the weeks of work he had put into this. 

So he busied himself making breakfast. 

Peter was slowly becoming more human. He had managed to hold a conversation with Harley the other day, and he had slept without the help of Sheriff last night. Harley knew this because he had stolen the frog to wash it the previous afternoon. 

It was getting better. 

Harley fixed a plate for him and for Peter, setting them down next to each other on the counter and taking his place next to his friend at the counter.

When Peter smelled the food, he gripped his pajama pants tightly in his fist, his nails biting into his palms through the fabric. Harley reached down, slowly managing to pry Peter's hand open. He flattened his palm against Peter's so he couldn't close it again. 

_I will turn fists into hands to make musical instruments out of killing tools._

Without even thinking about it, Peter had slid his hand until it was wrapped around Harley's. "One, two, three, four, I declare a thumb war," he announced to him loudly. 

That was another thing; from the way everyone talked about Peter, Harley was sure that he would be the loudest, most hyper teenager he had ever met. So far, he had gotten silence, crying, and yelling. 

 _"He wasn't always like this,"_ MJ had told him. _"There was a time when Peter was loud. He never stopped talking. Don't tell him this, but I miss that. So does Ned."_

Harley laughed at the childish game of thumb war, shaking his head at Peter. "Finish your breakfast," he said, gesturing at the food without letting go of Peter's hand. "Then I will crush you at thumb wars." 

Peter shot him a look, though he smiled, and began eating. Their hands came undone, and they focused on the action for a little bit, falling into a comfortable silence. 

* * *

 That night, MJ came over with blankets and popcorn. 

"May told me that she was called back in work," she explained quietly to Harley. Peter was laying in bed, his arm covering his eyes and one hand pressed against his chest. "I came over to see if Peter was up for watching movies." 

Harley flinched, scratching the back of his neck. May being gone so much could not be good for Peter's mental health. As far as Harley was concerned, May had been his main support system through the years, and now that he needed her more than ever, neither of them could afford the time away from each other. 

"He got tired about an hour ago," Harley whispered. "He's laying in bed. But I'm sure we could get him to the couch." 

Harley had spent the last hour with Peter's head in his lap, pushing his hand carefully through Peter's hair. He had only seen Peter so relaxed when he was doing this, so he let them stay like it for a while. 

Once Peter had managed to stumble out of his room, his eyes red and chest aching, MJ had already made two bowls of popcorn.

She stepped toward him and brushed a quick hand over Peter's hair, then straightened the strings on his hoodie. "You look good," she told him. Peter had blushed, nodding and smiling at her. 

"What movie are we watching?" he asked quietly. MJ clapped her hands together, a grin taking up her face. 

"I'm glad you asked, Parker," she said. "I have two selections. Star Wars  _or_ Happy Death Day." MJ picked up the CD boxes to both movies, waving them under Peter's nose.

He pretended to sniff them, drooling at the scent. 

"We are not watching Star Wars!" Harley protested from the couch. "That's so nerdy!"  

Peter moved past MJ, falling over the arm of the chair. He was already exhausted from being out of bed for so long. He could feel the energy draining out of him. 

"Harley," he said. "Harley Keener.  _Harley._ Look me in my eyes and tell me you are not a nerd." 

Harley punched him, half playful and half not. 

"Star Wars it is," MJ sighed. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have an amazing day!!

**Author's Note:**

> it's 11 p.m and i just want to tAlk about southern accents/speech/mannerisms someone hmu 
> 
> that being said, hello! my name is jesse. i hope you enjoyed this little story and i hope you're having an amazing day! (If you're LGBTQ+, happy pride!) --if you have any ideas or prompts you would like me to try, just let me know!


End file.
